So, I get it now. I really do.

And my boyfriend is great. He’s kind of your exact opposite (not that I was looking for that, it just happened) except he’s tall like you. He’s Hawaiian. And gorgeous. His name is Mano, which means ‘shark’ in Hawaiian. He surfs, and he’s tan and has this amazing long, dark hair and black eyes.

He used to be a Navy diver, but now he has his own dive shop, and he and his friend run SCUBA classes and dive trips to Catalina. I met him in May when Dez forced me to take one of his classes. He has such a great smile. He’s just…so open and honest and he’s so…great. He’s great, and he’s really good to me, and everyone likes him. He wants to go to Houston and meet Grandma and Caspar this fall.

By the way, did Caspar tell you about Doyle and the Vietnamese vase in the entry way? I know you loved that vase, but please don’t kill the cat when you get back from…wherever you are.

August 29, 2007

I’m trying to be really mature and well-adjusted here, but I’m crying right now, you jerk.

I miss you.

I miss you so much. Why the hell are you never here? Why? Where are you? I want to feel your arms around me and sleep next to you and talk to you and tease you and I hate you, Gio. I can’t help it. I hate you.

But I don’t really, even though I wish I did.

I still think about you every day. And I compare every man I meet to you. And every time I smell smoke or whiskey, I turn and expect to see you there. Do you know I studied Latin so I could impress you? How pathetic, huh? At least that one might come in handy professionally at some point.

When I bought my house, I checked how many windows were in the bedroom (just one) and imagined them with heavy drapes as if you might actually stay there at some point.